


This Man Said

by immoral_crow



Series: Inception Bingo Fills [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bruges and Thursday and Eames has been expecting a bullet to the back of his head ever since he invaded Arthur's dream and ran out on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Man Said

**Author's Note:**

> For the sexual frustration square on my bingo card. Title from _This Charming Man_
> 
> This roughly follows on from the first story, because why would I write one off stories when I can write a plot arc?

It's Bruges and Thursday and Eames has managed to successfully avoid Arthur for ten days, which means he's had a run of luck. Eames is a gambler. He knows how runs of luck end. 

More importantly he knows how _his_ runs of luck end. 

Which is why he doesn’t bat an eyelid when Arthur stalks into the coffee bar, gets an espresso from the surly server behind the counter, and seats himself opposite Eames, a study in unforced elegance. 

Eames has been expecting this from the moment he walked out of the warehouse after that last… incident. He’d been ashamed, guilty – still more than half hard, even though it had felt somehow disrespectful to do anything about that. And he’d been expecting a bullet to the back of his head the entire time he was walking away. 

To be completely bloody honest, he's been expecting that ever since. 

But discretion has never been Eames’s strong point, so he finishes his last mouthful of waffle (so? He’s a cliche. Fucking sue him – and good luck with _that_ ) and raises an eyebrow eloquently at Arthur. 

“Well this _is_ a pleasant surprise,” he says, genial, unemotional, everything that boarding school trained him to be. “I take it from the fact that my brains aren’t adorning the wall that you have something to say to me?” 

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirks, broadcasting AMUSEMENT as loud as a TV in a sports bar on World Cup Final night. That more than anything disconcerts Eames. The Arthur he knows – that he _knew_ – would never have allowed himself a tell that obvious. Eames braces himself for the worst, tries to hide his discomfort in his glass of water. 

“You left,” Arthur says, and stops, like he’s expecting Eames to reply. 

Eames just stares at him, because of course he did. He infiltrated Arthur’s dream – he had sex with him even though he knew Arthur thought he was… well. Someone else. He’s betrayed Arthur in every way that matters to people in their line of work. He knows what meant to happen now, and it certainly isn’t a bloody coffee klatch. 

“Um,” he says at last when it becomes apparent that Arthur is just going to wait for him to speak, like the sadistic bastard Eames always suspected he was. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me when you woke up?” 

He doesn’t mean it to be a question, but it comes out as one, and Arthur turns his head so Eames is spared the sight of his smile. 

“What?” Eames snaps, and Arthur shakes his head. 

“The way your mind works never ceases to amaze me,” he says, then looks up at Eames from under his lashes, his eyes burning with mischief. “Just… you left _fast_.”

There’s something in his voice that reminds Eames of the uncomfortably persistent erection he’d had – the one he’d ignored until it had wilted from time and stress in the streets of the city.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, but he’s probably blushing like a teenager, even if Arthur politely refrains from commenting. 

“Of course not,” Arthur says, pushing his cup away from him and standing up. “Just…” He leans over, close enough that Eames can smell the coffee on his breath as he talks. “If you’d stayed, I’m sure we could have…” His eyes flick down over Eames’s body. “Worked something out.” 

He stays still for a moment, warm and real and right in Eames’s space, then he pushes back and shrugs, starts to turn towards the door. 

“Wait,” Eames calls, and Arthur looks back, quizzical, cool – himself again. 

“What?” he asks, and when Eames swallows around the lump in his throat, he would swear the rest of the bar can hear it. 

“Why did you come here?”

Arthur regards him like he’s finally done something interesting, and he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a business card. 

“There’s a job,” he says. “That I want your help on.”

He tosses the card onto the table and takes a step back, carefully giving Eames the illusion of space. 

“And you think we can work together?”

“You think I’d have asked you if we couldn’t?” 

He waits for a second, and when Eames doesn’t reply he nods, a small, satisfied movement, and turns to go. 

He doesn’t check that Eames picks up the card, although Eames does – memorising the number even before the card’s in his pocket. 

He’ll call Arthur, that’s a foregone conclusion – and he’ll work the job. He owes Arthur that much at least. 

And, if he’s being honest, he wants to find out what Arthur’s plan is – because if Eames is sure of anything it’s that Arthur has a plan. 

He wipes his lips with his napkin, tucks a tip under his glass, and stands up. There’s only one way to find out what’s happening with Arthur, and that’s to work this job. 

Eames is very aware of his flaws, but one thing he’s not, is a coward. 

He nods to the server and leaves the cafe. He’ll give it a few hours, but he’ll have called Arthur before the sun sets today. In the meantime he adjusts his trousers surreptitiously. He’ll find something to do before he calls. He’s completely confident about that.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU, TROJIE <3 <3


End file.
